


target on your back.

by projectfreelancer



Category: Ava's Demon
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Assassins & Hitmen, Codependency, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-10-12 10:17:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10488585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/projectfreelancer/pseuds/projectfreelancer
Summary: odin is assigned to assassinate gil marverde, one of Titan's top-ranked doctors.





	1. the sinful end.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [worry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/worry/gifts).
  * Inspired by [collarbone](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10448505) by [worry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/worry/pseuds/worry). 



> this is 100% self-indulgent and supposed to fit alongside silas' assassin au as well.
> 
> they fall in love fast because that's what touch-starved freaks do & i love slightly ooc codependency.
> 
> part 2 is an alternative ending
> 
> slight nsfw warning

There are many things Odin knows about Gil Marverde:

 

He is one of the highest ranked doctors in Titan’s cult.

He is Odin’s 87th mission.

He prays nightly, exactly at 8 pm, like the clock is a ticking time bomb threatening to explode at 8:01.

He is more deadly than you think. 

He is one of Olai’s top priorities.

And he is  _ beautiful.  _

 

Odin watches him from atop the roof, sun blazing on him, sun stifling. His hands are slick with sweat where they hold the sniper—the sniper that’s pinpointed on Gil.

Oh _no_ , he’d never kill the man like this. A shot through the: head, heart, chest. Never like this. The man is talking to patients’, and Odin is not in the game to add a civilian casualty to his record. 

“And your aim is shit,” Olai’s strained voice tears into his earpiece. Odin wants to tear it out, crush it beneath his feet. Olai continues, “I can always tell what you’re thinking, so don’t ask how I knew.”

Odin doesn’t reply, throat dry. His eyes don’t waver from Gil Marverde, his  _ target _ , and Odin imagines the way he could kill him.

“And besides,” Olai is still saying, voice slithering like a snake, “I taught you everything. You know just how to play with your prey before an attack.”

Odin’s silent, and the sun sings above him, and Gil blooms a smile at the patient he’s with.

“Isn’t that right, Odin?”

Odin’s finger itches at the sniper’s trigger. “Yes, sir.”

  
  


\---

 

He knows Gil’s schedule like the back of his cracked hands. He knows everything Gil does because that’s what people like him do. They learn, and they destroy. Odin repeats it back to himself:  _ awake 6:10, pray 6:30, eat 7:00, get ready 7:15, leave 7:30,  _ and the list is a never ending memoir of every move Gil Marverde makes, written neat-tight in Odin’s leather book.

Odin is, and his pride sears at the thought, guaranteed success in this mission.

It’s a simple plan, one Olai has all but burned into his skin to remember it. Break into his house while he’s home, get any records he has, kill him cleanly and like it’s an accident.

Olai’s bitter voice rings a low memory in Odin’s mind: _ We all know how good you are at making mistakes, Odin, so the last part should be easy on you.  _

Odin’s pride had eaten at him, but he could not disagree either.

It’s a simple, simple plan. 

But then– _ then  _ Odin’s ship is malfunctioning, screeching its complaints to Odin, blaring red and flashing lights, and he can hear Olai yell at him through his headpiece, and he tries,  _ God _ , he is  _ trying _ to stop the ship, but—

But. It crashes, and all Odin sees before he blacks out is Gil Marverde’s peaceful home. He thinks, _8:03_ _pm. i’ll be interrupting his prayers_ , and sees black.

 

\---

 

( _ If you fail another mission,  _ his brother is saying, and it sounds wrong. sick. broken.  _ you’ll have to tell father. and you know what he’ll say? _

 

odin swallows pride like knives down his throat.  **what will he say?**

 

_ you’re unfit to even be an Arrow. he’ll kick you out. odin, i won't save you this time. _

 

odin feels nausea rise through him. it’s sick; he’s sick; olai’s sick. olai has never actually tried to save him before. olai is a liar. but odin knows exactly what he wants to hear. 

 

**i’ll complete the mission this time.** )

 

\---

 

Odin is surrounded by blankets. Odin is atop a bed, and it’s  _ comfortable,  _ and that’s when Odin knows he’s not where he belongs. Comfort is a rarity in his life. The way the air smells like a seasalt breeze makes a hum sound low in his throat. It is unlike his home, unlike rock and dust and dirt. It smells—like peace.

He opens his eyes, and the light slices searing pain through his head

“Oh good, you’re awake.” The voice is bitterly-cheerful. The voice is  _ beautiful.  _ And Odin’s eyes adjust, looking at the source. And. It’s Gil Marverde, his target, Mission 87th.

The man looks different up close, not accentuated by the sniper’s sight. He looks laden with peace. His hair falls in waves, and his eyes are the colours of waves, and his skin a soft-blue like the waves. And Odin is very afraid of water, of drowning. But a smile agraces Gil’s lips and—

It  _ feels _ like drowning. 

His head rushes, and the searing pain is back, but now it’s everywhere. His target rushes to his side, hands gentle on Odin’s shoulders, and he’s urgent, “Are you okay? You can tell me what’s wrong. I’m a doctor!”

But all Odin can do is groan out a sour response. The pain is  _ everywhere _ : between his head, down his chest, something fighting against his heart. And his hands reach up to his ear, trying to turn off Olai’s headpiece quickly, less Olai know what has happened, but—

“M-my ear… th-th… there was a thing in m-my ear. Wh-where did you put it?” Odin’s voice is rough, he can tell. Gil’s eyes flutter shut slowly, opening up quickly.

“I… did not see anything? Perhaps it could’ve fallen out during the crash. You fell rather hard,” Gil is holding more bandages in his hands, “You’re lucky to be alive.”

A laugh threatens to escape Odin.  _ Lucky.  _ Lucky is not a word Odin would use to describe his life, less so being lucky for being alive. Odin thinks about if he had just died, gone up to smoke and flames with the rest of the ship, failed in the most primal of ways.

But Gil’s hand is soft against him as he takes Odin’s arm, cut with blood, and wraps the bandage around it. “I was worried I could offer little help to you,” the man is saying, “But like I said, luckily, you seem to be able to handle yourself.” 

Odin’s heart beats dangerously against his chest. It’s been too long since he’s been touched with gentle-worry. Hands that caress him are usually rough, calloused by guns and knives; usually Olai’s or Raven’s or Crow’s; usually hitting and pushing and hurting.

But Gil Marverde, who is a top ranked doctor, a disgusting Titan cultist, Odin’s 87th mission, and who he has to kill in four days holds him like he is fragile, like he is glass, and Odin closes his eyes, and—

He falls asleep. He does not have nightmares for the first time he can remember. The way Gil’s hands feel against him stay in his mind like a ghost.

  
  


\---

**Three Days Until Mission Fails**

  
  


He wakes up and feels refreshed. He wakes up and feels like he has slept for an eternity. Odin, for all his life, has never known a comfort like this. 

Getting up isn’t easy. Pain aches all over, like he just freshly crashed onto Gil’s front yard, like it wasn’t 12 hours ago.

Wait—

 

_ Gil.  _

 

Odin listens quietly, cannot hear even a tremble of a breath. He’s not here. Panic rises through Odin.  _ He must know. He must’ve known, and he has left, and I’m going to fail _ .

A white piece of paper crinkles at the breeze coming through the window, and Odin whips his head towards it. Walks over, carefully, knowing he has been taught to always be vigilant.

The note says:

******I have work today. I could not cancel on short notice, but I took tomorrow off to make sure I can heal you up. There should be some food in the fridge and cupboard. Eat as much as you want, I won’t mind! I haven’t had time to clean up the front yard, so if you are able, you may check the crash to see if there’s anything left. I get home around 6 pm. I will have dinner prepared for you, so don’t eat me out of home!**

 

**-Gil Marverde.**

 

There’s a swirl of a heart written by Gil’s signature, and Odin’s stomach feels tight. Feels tight rereading ‘pretty.’ That is not something Odin has been called before. Dumb, ugly, loser. But pretty—his stomach feels tight. 

He leaves the note alone and goes to check on the crash site.

What he sees is devastating. Olai’s ship is in ruins, pieces shattered and crumbling around. Gil’s shiny-blue Titan statue is blackened with ashes. Panic in Odin’s veins ring familiar, anxiety clutching at him. He has not failed the mission yet, but this was one of Olai’s favourite ships, and when he finds out—

When he finds out, he will be picking up Odin after he has killed Gil. The Arrows know not every mission is perfect. The thought does not settle the fear inside.

The buzzing-beeping he hears has the fear rising again. His headpiece.  _ Olai _ . Olai must be wondering what has happened to him. Odin does not disobey orders; Odin does not wait hours to reply to his brother. Nausea replaces the fear.

_ He must think I have failed already. _

Odin finds the headpiece easily. It’s cracked but not broken. He puts it in, presses the transmit button, and—

“ODIN,” Raven’s voice crowning voice spills into his ear. He clenches his jaw but knows he should be thankful it is them and not Olai. “Odin, Odin, Odin. Olai is pissed. The tracker we put on you—”

“I put on you, thanks,” Crow interjects.

“Shut up! Anyways, we know you crashed the ship.” Her voice sing-songs, and he imagines her head bobs along with it. She must be twirling a knife or a gun, must be imagining how pleased she’d be if Olai would just give her the  _ privilege  _ of killing Odin.

He swallows heavy. “Wh-where is he?”

It’s Crow who says, “On a mission. A quick and simple kill. He said he didn’t want you pestering him during it, so he gave  _ us  _ the earpiece. Don’t worry, he’ll be back in a few hours.” She giggles dangerously. “I wish I could be around to hear the lecture he’s gonna give you.”

Odin feels his eyes roll even though they cannot see him. And he loves them, wishes he could have done more to protect Crow and Arrow from his brother’s sickening claws, but sometimes—sometimes he knows all too well how they have been poisoned into hating him, and he wishes he could hate them back. 

“Th-thanks. Tell him to c-call when he needs me.”

Raven, as sharp as a blade, says, “Oh, he will.”

The silence that follows the call feels more cold than the fake-love his sisters feel for him.

 

-

 

He knows it’s wrong to pry through Gil’s belongings. He knows it's invading the man’s privacy. He also knows that he is to kill Gil in less than five days, thus he thinks that trifling through his stuff is less sinful than that. 

The problem is that Gil does not own much. Gil is a simple man, with a simple routine, but who has a whole bounty on top his head like a halo. Odin thinks it’s intriguing. Is used to his targets drowning in hedonism, indulging in all their desires. Most of Titan’s high-ranking followers have the resources to provide themselves with all their wishes. A dictatorship pays well to the most loyal servants.

But Gil…

Gil, to some deep part of Odin’s sick soul, is special.

His house is special. The food inside his fridge is comprised of mostly take-out. His bookshelf is littered with medical books and a few rare poetry books. He has no luxuries inside his home except for the soft bed that he had let Odin sleep on.

Nothing sticks out to Odin. Nothing he can use to psychoanalyze him, to coil around his prey, to learn all his secrets and pleasures before his death. Gil Marverde is just Gil Marverde, and Odin feels less like the predator and more like the prey inside his house.

But then Odin comes across a golden-blue book—Titan’s Holy book—and sickness once again takes home inside Odin. Gil may be a simple man, but he is a simple man who would martyr himself for a vicious false God. 

The crunch in his ear resumes, Olai snaking himself back into Odin’s mind, saying, “Oh sweetheart, I’m home.” The bittersweet nickname disgusts Odin. “My mission went quick. A nice, clean kill. Why can’t you be more like me?”

“H-Hello, Olai.” It’s all he can say.  _ Keep it simple, and he will have less to yell at you for. _

“You shouldn’t ignore my questions, dear brother. Anyways, I heard you crashed my ship. She was a beauty, you know that? Like another limb to me. I trusted you. You crashed her.”

Odin stays silent. That, he knows, will just make Olai more mad. Revenge is not always complex.

The growl that escapes Olai is monster-vicious. “You’ll pay for it. Have you killed your target yet?”

“No.”

“Have you even made  _ contact  _ yet?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I… His h-house… it’s what I cr-cra-crashed on. I’m inside his house.”

Olai whistles low. “Maybe you are more like me than I thought.” Odin feels sick. “Playing with your meal before you eat, huh?”

Sick. Sick. He feels  _ sick _ ; the sun blazing down onto him. It’s familiar feeling, but he feels sick. “Yes, sir.”

“You have three days, Odin. Don’t disappoint me again.”

The crackling silence afterwards is a comfort. 

 

-

 

Gil comes into the home in a flurry. Odin is laying on the couch, reading through one of Gil’s (many) medical handbooks. Gil is holding multiple bags, too many for one person, sweat slicking his wave-curls to his forehead.

“You know,” Gil says strained, trying to carry everything all at once, “If you weren’t in such bad shape, I’d make you help me. You seem… strong.” He looks over at Odin, eyes ghosting down his body. There’s a flush on his face, and Odin—

_ Just the heat and the weight.  _

“I wouldn’t h-help anyways,” Odin says, going back to reading the book.

Gil’s laugh feels like a bulletwound, and light threatens to blind Odin. The searing pain is back, as if it's drawn out by Gil’s very presence. His grip on the book’s edges grows tighter.

“You’re funny. I brought home dinner for you. It’s some fish,” he’s putting the food on the coffee table in front of Odin, “So I hope that’s okay with you.”

Odin hums out an agreement. This man–his  _ target _ –is quite the fool. To trust Odin into his own house, let him stay alone, bring him food. Odin wants to shake him, tell him,  _ you’re gonna get yourself killed one day _ , but the irony sits heavy in his mind at the thought.

Gil settles in the couch next to Odin, close enough that Odin can just reach out and—and.

Possibilities run endless in Odin’s mind, like its clockwork, like he was born for this.

He could reach out and strangle him. Smother him until his lungs cry. With his hands, with a pillow, choking the soul out of Gil.

He could reach into his pockets, pull out the knife he always keeps on him (a silver gift from Olai) and gut Gil’s soul. Slice deep enough that not even Gil could hope to repair himself.

He could go find the guns that must be scattered throughout Gil’s yard, fallen off the ship in the crash. A bullet through his head; a bullet through his heart; a bullet through his chest.

He does nothing. He reaches out for a fork and eats the food that Gil got for him specially. He feels guilt weigh on his shoulders, but the way Gil gleams, says, “I’m glad your appetite isn’t lost,” makes it almost disappear.

Almost.

“I was so worried all day that I’d come home, and you’d just be dead!” Odin can read the worry etched into Gil. The way his eyebrows scrunch together, the way he won’t look into Odin’s eyes, his body sagging. The feeling of what could have been guilt. Odin knows it well.

“You s-said it yourself… I’m t-tough,” Odin says, the joke tasting flat in his mouth. But Gil still giggles in response, and Odin—

A snake false-whispers drives into his mind: _three_   _ days _ .

 

-

 

The meal goes by reasonably quickly; Odin seeped in hunger, Gil seeming to feel the same. They finish soon, and Gil’s cleaning up after them.

“So,” his mission says, “Did anything happen while I was gone for work?”

Odin leans back against the couch, stomach full unlike anything he’s felt before. Is used to starving, scavenging, doing whatever it takes to feed himself. Olai rarely fed them, and he’ll do anything to help himself and help Crow and Raven.

He vanishes the thoughts. “No,” Odin says. “Nothing a-as special as a m-man crashing in the yard.”

Gil’s laugh makes Odin see stars. “I’m glad, I don’t think I could handle two. I see you looked through my books. See anything you like?”

“No. J-just these medical books. You must be a g-good doctor."

Gil’s laugh is vibrant,  _ God,  _ and Odin loves it. “Well, you’re alive, aren’t you?” Gil comes closer to him, taking his arm into his hands. He undoes the bandages, gasps gently. “We need to disinfect these again.” When he walks to go get the disinfectant, Odin does not take his eyes off of him. 

He’s not what Odin expected. Perhaps wanted a madman, more of a fanatic, though the Titan posters on the wall do ring like insanity to Odin. But Gil seems to just be… normal. Odin wants to hate him, knows it’s easier to kill when you make yourself hate, but he cannot. Gil comes back, holds his arm with care, and he  _ cannot.  _

Gil disinfects the wounds, licking his lips while working diligently. His curls are still sticking to his forehead, and Odin wants to–reach out, touch him, he hasn’t been touched in a  _ long  _ time, and suddenly he craves it. But Odin hungers like a monster, and Gil doesn’t deserve monster fangs, and—Odin will kill him in a few days.

  
  


\---

**Two Days Until Mission Fails**

  
  


Odin wakes up to the sound of Gil singing. It feels domestic, like something Odin has never known in his own house. 

He walks out—out of  _ Gil Marverde’s  _ bed, God—and sees Gil busying himself at the kitchen. And it washes over him: the smell of the syrup, and the pancakes, and the sight of Gil shirtless.

“Ah, good morning!” Gil is looking back at him, smile on his face. “You woke up rather early. I’m not a very good cook, but I tried making some breakfast,” he sways a hand through his hair, a curly mess. “I haven’t taken a day off in a long time, so I went a bit wild.”

Odin can tell what he means. There’s a mound of pancakes on the counter, most of them tinged black, with bacon also burnt black right next to it. Gil notices his staring, adds quickly, “You don’t  _ have  _ to eat any of it. I know I’m not very good at cooking, I just—” and he cuts off, obviously flustered, face flushing with embarrassment.

Odin laughs quietly—something he hasn’t done in a  _ while _ . “Yeah, I th-think I’ll pass.”

The blush upon Gil’s face deepens, but he makes no argument. He turns his back on Odin, fidgeting, touching the edge of a slice of bacon. “I have stuff for lunch I don’t need to cook, so you can fill up then.”

Odin just nods even though Gil cannot see him. There’s a crackling in his ear. Olai.  _ Fuck.  _ He hasn’t spoken to Olai in hours. His brother is undoubtedly not worried for him or his safety, but most likely is on the edge of his seat waiting to hear about Odin’s probable failure.

“I’m going to g-go check on the sh-ship. I think I… left something out there.” The lie lessens his stutter, hopes Gil doesn’t notice, but Gil—a  _ fool _ —just waves him off with a grin and a nod.

 

-

 

When he steps outside, walks far away that his voice won’t carry into Gil’s home, he presses into his headpiece. Olai is quick to respond.

“Brother, how are you?”

“Fine.” Odin’s tongue feels heavy, feels dry.

“Right. Updates?”

“N-not yet. Soon.” Short and simple. Everything with Olai has to be short and simple, or God forbid he tangles you up in the web of words he can spin

“Are you seriously trying to set yourself up to fail?” Odin can hear what sounds like a knife being sharpened in the background. “We all know you like to procrastinate but do try not to let it kill you.” The sharpening-knife sound halts, and Odin understands.

_ If I fail, they’re going to kill me. _

An Arrow is only an Arrow if it can kill, if it is useful.

“I understand, Olai.”

“That’s  _ sir _ to you, Odin. Remember where you belong.”

Any quick-witted response on Odin’s tongue dies out with the screech of the transmission-ending signal. 

Odin catches the glimpse of a gun to his right. He scoops down to pick it up, holds it tight in his hands. This is how he can kill Gil. This, or his knife. This, or his hands. He has no excuse to fail. It is Gil’s life or his, and Odin has always been selfish.

 

-

 

(Gil is on top of him, is  _ hard _ , and electric runs through Odin’s veins. He hasn’t felt this way in a—long time. The way Gil is grasping at him, fingers rough, and his mouth busy kissing down Odin’s neck. His breathing is heavy and wet, and he makes noises in the back of his throat that make Odin  _ melt. _

“Odin,  _ God,  _ please,” and Odin’s hands are on Gil’s waist now. Gil’s hips roll down, and their cocks brush against each other, and—

And Odin knows he has to kill him in less than two days or his father and Olai are going to kick him out of their family name or just kill him. But the way Gil touches him like he knows  _ everything  _ about Odin, like Gil knows all of his dirtywrong sins and still wants to learn more, and the way he grinds against him is enough reason for Odin to consider leaving behind his entire life for him.

The way—the way Gil says his name, the way Gil says his name, the way Gil says—

  
  


“Odin, Odin, wake up,” someone is saying, hands shaking at his shoulders, and the voice is familiar, the voice is—

His eyes open, and Gil Marverde (his target, his 87th mission, his—) has his hands on Odin’s shoulders. It feels ghostly familiar, like his dream, like the way the ghost of Gil—

_ Fuck. _

Gil, unaware of Odin’s crisis, continues on, “You’re awake… Thank Titan,” the name flinches at Odin, “You were groaning so loudly in your sleep. I was worried your wounds got infected or reopened.”

Odin represses a laugh, feels the embarrassment rush through him. Everything inside of him feels like it’s burning, like he’s gonna go up in flames like Olai’s ship. He  _ craves _ and everything is hot; he is hot. And Gil is so close to him, hands not moving from him, soft-gentle on him, and Odin—

Like a monster, he craves hungrily.

“I’m fine,” Odin says, voice roughshaky, knows Gil can see through it. If Gil comes closer, Odin will fail. Odin’s self-control is always a faultily balanced. Gil’s thumb strokes back and forth against his skin, and—

And Gil presses his cheek to Odin’s forehead. “You feel warm,” he whispers. Gil is so close to him, Gil’s face pressed onto him, and he knows it is just the movement of a doctor, but it still makes his stomach turn over. And—and—

And Gil’s face shifts, his lips press against Odin’s forehead, and push away just as fast as it happens. As if Odin hallucinates it, deluded by his touch-craved urges, deluded by the concept of someone actually wanting him.

But Gil’s face is adorned with a soft rosiness. His eyes avoid Odin’s as he leaves the bed, and Odin knows it was no trick of his imagination. Gil has to want him. He has to. 

Gil returns with a damp washcloth. He rests it upon Odin’s forehead, lets his fingers trail down to Odin’s cheek, settle there. And Odin wonders how long it's been since someone has touched Gil. How long it’s been since Gil has felt love, or lust, or anything inbetween. He wonders if there are more similarities between the two than Gil would want to know. But he pushes the thoughts aside, pushes the thoughts of  _ two days  _ away, just focuses on the way Gil’s fingers feel against him, the thrumming in his chest, and the way Gil’s lips look when he tells Odin about his life.

(Odin wants to say,  _ Don’t tell me this. Don’t tell me about almost drowning. I’m going to kill you, you’re going to hate me in the afterlife, I didn’t ask to hear any of this _ , but Gil’s face is peaceful as he retells the stories, and Odin knows when to disobey his mind.)

 

-

 

The thing is:

Odin feels everything, or he feels nothing. His brother and sisters whisper chilling threats of murder to him, and he feels nothing. His father does not speak to him when he visits, and he feels nothing. Olai cuts deep wounds into him to teach him how a soldier should feel, and he feels  _ nothing. _

But Gil Marverde (who is his target, who is Odin’s 87th mission, who is the man he has to kill in three days) looks at him, and he feels everything.

It’s not love. Of course it’s not, that would be  _ sick,  _ no one falls in love after fourty-eight hours. But it’s something like: he feels at comfort inside this house, a comfort he has never felt in his own home. That he could convince Gil that Titan is a monster who does monstrous things. Like Odin could open himself up to Gil, and perhaps, Gil would not run away.

It’s not love. It’s something else, something else _ just as sick _ , something like obsession. Like the way the predator lusts for the prey. Like devilish lust. The way followers get down on their knees for forgiveness. Odin is sick, he knows this, and he knows Gil could be just as sick. Because he was taught many things, and one of them is to know your target inside-and-out. And he knows the way Gil prays, the way Gil lusts for men, the way Gil ( _ faithful  _ Gil) has collapses in faith.

If Odin could convert and ruin such a devoted Titan follower—the thought makes his head rush dizzy.

 

-

 

He falls asleep easily, like he has only ever known comfort. And gil shares the ebd with him this night, and it’s wrong, but it’s  _ good _ , and Gil’s arm entangles him as Gil sleeps, and it’s  _ good.  _

  
  


\---

**One Day Until Mission Fails**

 

They wake up in each other’s arms. Gil’s eyes fluttering open, looking at Odin, who looks back. It’s domestic; simple and sweet. Something Odin could get used to if he wasn’t a soldier, a killer, something devastating that ruins anything he touches.

Odin can feel the clock like a bomb, like every second between them is leading up to a deadly explosion. And Odin wishes it’d just implode, that it would wipe them both out, have them die together, anything to stop the way Odin’s heart melts with the way Gil is looking at him, smile softly gracing his sea-blue lips.

And when Gil kisses him, there is no bomb; no explosion; no gunshot. There is Gil’s soft lips on his, and there is Gil’s hands on his neck. Odin feels the urge to push him away, poison Gil’s mind with hatred toward him, but all he does is push himself into the kiss, his own hands curling into Gil’s hair.

Gil moans quietly, and it’s more beautiful than anything Odin has heard before. And he wants to laugh or throw up because he’s supposed to kill this man this man by tomorrow (8 am sharp), but Gil might just kill him first with the noises he makes into his mouth.

Gil is the first to pull away, and Odin has to stop himself from chasing after his lips.  _ Remember your pride. Remember your mission.  _

And Gil, like something holy and breathless, says, “That was my first kiss.”

Odin’s heart breaks for him. For what it must be like to share such an intimate moment with a killer; someone who is going to kill you; someone as dirty-ruined as Odin. Gil deserves better. Gil deserves anything besides Odin Arrow.

But Odin, ignoring all his soldier instincts, closes the space between them again, mouth on mouth. It’s more feverish, more fervent, the way they fit together this time. Gil’s nails dip sweetly in Odin’s neck, and Odin could die like this, could let Olai or Crow or even Gil kill him in this moment and be pleased. He aches for it, aches for them to both just die, so tomorrow won’t come. Or maybe he’ll wake up as a different person tomorrow, someone who can love Gil the way he deserves, someone who doesn’t have a knife and gun tucked underneath his clothes. 

But Odin was taught many things, and one of them is: _ let nothing delude your mission. _

Whatever he feels for Gil, or whatever Gil feels for him, is only an obstacle in the way of Odin’s goal. Odin must shoot it down, just as he must shoot Gil tomorrow. Because even though Gil’s tongue feels like devotion against his, he knows Gil serves a higher being, and that higher being is what the Arrows aim to kill.

Gil, as if he can read his mind, pulls away again. “You’re going to have to leave soon.”

Odin cannot speak; knows his voice will be frail and betray him. He nods. Gil sighs heavily. And he says, “I’ve… never felt this way for someone before. I’m not asking you to stay,” his hands caress against Odin’s cheeks. “But tonight, please, just… I want to…”

And Odin looks into his eyes, can read his target like the back of his hands. Gil  _ wants  _ him. Gil, pure and fragile, wants Odin, dirty and bruised.

Odin considers saying no. Considers not shattering Gil’s heart into pieces. But Olai taught him many things, and one of them is:

_ Play with your prey before you attack _ .

The way he pushes Gil into the bed, the way Gil moans underneath him, the way Gil feels around him—everything about Gil makes Odin feel that Gil is the predator, and his heart is the prey.

 

-

 

The day, their  _ last  _ day together, is spent in contact with each other. Odin wonders if they stay like this, never stop this routine, if they could melt and become one. 

 

\---

**Final Day**

 

Odin wakes up, and he is empty. Like Gil has clawed into his very being, into his soul, and ripped it out with his mouth. Like if Odin pulls the trigger, he’ll die alongside Gil too. And it’s a weakness, a vice. Soldiers are not supposed to be weak. Nothing is to get in the way of a mission. Love, happiness, anything  _ good  _ is just a distraction. But Odin is empty, and he knows he has always been empty.

Gil wakes up in his arms again. Odin wishes it was a repeat of yesterday. That they will kiss, they will connect, their bodies connecting together, lust and desire overwhelming. But today, Odin must do his job or he will be dead by tomorrow.

Gil tries to kiss him again, but Odin, like the monster he is, pushes him away. Ignores the confusion on Gil’s face. Swallows his pride, his feelings, his hope down his throat.

He inhales, exhales, inhales.

“Gil, you h-have to listen to me. It’s g-going to sound in-insane. But it’s true. I was se-sent… to kill you,” and he shuts his eyes close as he says it, can hear the way Gil gasps lightly. His buries his eyes shut harder. “My fa-family… they have set th-their life’s goal to take do-down Titan. And his followers. And you… c-caught their eyes. If I don’t k-kill you, I’ll be ki-kicked out of my family. Or ki-killed too.”

When he opens his eyes, he is expecting the tears that spill from Gil’s eyes, but it hurts no less. He expects fear or anger to blossom on Gil’s features, but instead, Gil just looks empty. Broken. Odin knows the feeling  _ well.  _

But Gil, like always, surprises Odin. He inhales loudly, wiping at the tears from his eyes, and says, “Do it then.”

“Wh-what?”

“I have done my duty to Titan,” Gil says, and, oh _ ,  _ Odin never had enough time to tell Gil the truth. They never had enough time, and the clock is running still. “If all is true, I should be given a place in Paradise for serving Him,” and Odin aches to tell him,  _ it doesn’t exist _ , but he cannot sever this last bit of hope for the boy. And Gil continues, “And you... you deserve—”

But his voice is cracking, sea-salt tears spilling down his eyes again. Odin wants to do something reckless, like kiss them away and tell Gil that he’ll fail the mission for him,  _ just come with me, we’ll figure something out, i love you _ . Gil doesn't even know anything about Odin, doesn't know  _what_ Odin deserves.. 

But Odin is a soldier. Odin is a soldier with a gun in his hand, taking it out from its holster, and for once, his hands are rattled with shakes. Anxiety bites at him, and the way Gil looks at him like he’s  _ holy  _ or  _ good  _ makes the shakes worse.

“Just—quick, okay? Make it quick,” Gil’s voice is rock-steady despite the gun he can now see. Odin thinks it's disgustingly beautiful: how much faith Gil has in Titan to believe that his death is only a starting point for pure bliss in Paradise. How much faith he has in Odin despite the fact he knows nothing about the man and never will.

Gil will ascend into glory, and Odin—is a  _ devil. _

“Wh-when you go to P-Paradise,” Odin says, voice feeling thin, “Just… don’t think of m-me.” And he lowers his gun, lips dipping onto Gil’s for the final time, and it’s  _ divine;  _ it’s the redemption Odin needs, Odin has been looking for. 

_ You must play with your prey before you attack.  _

The words feel like they’re being burned into his skin. And the gun points at Gil, and—   
  


 

\---

**Mission Complete**   
  


 

Odin presses the transmission button on his ear piece. “Olai, I have completed the mission.” His voice does not shake. His heart does not break. He is a steady soldier. He is a soldier who has earned his name, his place in his family.

And when Olai picks him up in a brand new, shiny ship, the hug that envelops him feels nothing like the touch he knew of yesterday.

Odin knows no one will ever touch him like Gil had, and he thinks,  _ Good. _

_ I didn’t deserve it. _

 


	2. the right ending.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> alt. ending.

\---

**Final Day**

 

Odin wakes up, and he is empty. Like Gil has clawed into his very being, into his soul, and ripped it out with his mouth. Like if Odin pulls the trigger, he’ll die alongside Gil too. And it’s a weakness, a vice. Soldiers are not supposed to be weak. Nothing is to get in the way of a mission. Love, happiness, anything  _ good  _ is just a distraction. But Odin is empty, and he knows he has always been empty.

Gil wakes up in his arms again. Odin wishes it was a repeat of yesterday. That they will kiss, they will connect, their bodies connecting together, lust and desire overwhelming. But today, Odin must do his job or he will be dead by tomorrow.

Gil tries to kiss him again, but Odin, like the monster he is, pushes him away. Ignores the confusion on Gil’s face. Swallows his pride, his feelings, his hope down his throat.

He inhales, exhales, inhales.

“Gil, you h-have to listen to me. It’s g-going to sound in-insane. But it’s true. I was se-sent… to kill you,” and he shuts his eyes close as he says it, can hear the way Gil gasps lightly. His buries his eyes shut harder. “My fa-family… they have set th-their life’s goal to take do-down Titan. And his followers. And you… c-caught their eyes. If I don’t k-kill you, I’ll be ki-kicked out of my family. Or ki-killed too.”

When he opens his eyes, he is expecting the tears that spill from Gil’s eyes, but it hurts no less. He expects fear or anger to blossom on Gil’s features, but instead, Gil just looks empty. Broken. Odin knows the feeling  _ well.  _

But Odin is tired of being broken and beaten and bruised. He licks his lips, looks Gil in the eyes, and he says, “I’m n-not going to do that. You h-have no reason to tr-trust me, you can kick m-me out, but I w-want… Gil, I want to stay with you, we c-can… just run aw-away from everything. I kn-know you have a ship. I know all the s-safehouses nearby. We can st-start a new life.”

It sounds like a false promise. Odin knows his family knows every inch of the universe, will never stop searching for the prodigal son, but he is tired.  _ Let them come and kill us both. But I won’t do it for them.  _

And Gil is empty-starving like Odin, digging to find redemption in something other than a False God, and Odin touched him, and Odin craves for him, and it is enough for them both. To be loved, no matter how shallow it may be, is enough for them both.

They enter the ship together with however many bags packed full of stuff they can both carry. They settle in the seats in front of the controls, yet Gil lets Odin handle them, puts all his misguided-faith and trust in Odin.

“I… don’t even know your name,” Gil admits sheepishly, the flush on his cheeks again. Odin thinks:  _ Beautiful.  _ His hands fidget at the controls, and the ship rises slowly off the ground. 

He says, “It’s Odin.” Gil’s house looks tiny and crushable from the aircraft’s window as they get higher. “Just Odin.”    
He was never an Arrow, even at birth.


End file.
